Oh my God! The soldiers had shot Mr. Rogers…and Mrs. Rogers…and Jimmy, who had promised to bring Diego by the house. The soldiers had shot Jimmy!
A voice called her name, but her conscious mind was overcome by fear, and she only heard it in the periphery of her thoughts. She kept running, barely able to see through the tears streaming from her eyes.
* * *
When she came to her senses again, Mio found herself sitting on the ground, knees pulled up to her chest and head in her hands. Her soul was empty; she had cried more tears than she thought she had in her body. Her foster family was dead. All of them. Her mother was dead, and her father was off in the stars somewhere, fighting a war that was now going on here. Why wasn’t he here when she needed him?
Her body shuddered once as it recovered from her bout of crying, and she looked up. She was on the hill where she had first seen the Terran assault with Jimmy. Her eyes teared as she thought of her foster brother, and she fought them back. The sun was going down, and the winds were picking up. It would be a cool night; she would have to find shelter.
She couldn’t go back home. A plume of smoke showed where the Rogers’ house had been. Similar trails reached toward the sky from the Callahan farmstead and the Perry’s vineyard. Her eyes scanned the rural countryside; additional pillars dotted the landscape. Although there were a few columns of smoke in First Landing, it looked like the Turds had burned every farm in the area.
Realization dawned; the Terrans had burned her family’s house, even though no one was living there. Why would they do that?
She didn’t know…nor did she know where she was going to find shelter. The only remaining buildings were in First Landing, but so were the Terrans, and she had seen how they treated the locals. Her eyes misted over again.
No. She wasn’t going to cry again. She forced back the tears. Her father would want her to be strong. He would come back for her like he said, and his ship would blast the Turds into steaming little piles of crap.
The mental image made her smile and gave her the energy to stand. She shivered; summer hadn’t fully arrived yet, and she wasn’t properly dressed to stay out all night. She needed a blanket, but she didn’t want to return to the Rogers’ house to look for one. Not only might the soldiers still be there, but she also wasn’t sure she could stand the sight of her foster family’s corpses. Oh, and the Terrans had burned it, so there probably weren’t any blankets there, anyway.
Damn the Turds and their stupid war. Couldn’t the Terrans just leave them alone to live in peace? Why did they have to be so mean?
Okay, so she couldn’t go to First Landing, nor were there any farmhouses in the area still standing. Where would she go? She had heard there were some farmers farther north. Maybe their farms had been spared.
She nodded once; that was where she would go. She looked at the town one last time. The smoke had mostly dissipated. Apparently, they hadn’t fought as hard as Mr. Rogers had wanted everyone to, back before…
She wasn’t going to think about it. She turned on her heel and started walking. Maybe there would be some sort of resistance movement she could find up north. Surely there had to be other people like Mr. Rogers who would fight the stupid Terrans. She would find them and join up. Then she’d come back and kill them all. Yes. That’s what she was going to do.
* * *
The sun was already down by the time she reached the northern end of the plateau, and twilight was fading fast.
“Darn,” she said, gazing at the steep slope. Mio had never been this far from home before, and she hadn’t known the northern edge of the plateau was almost as steep a cliff as it was near First Landing to the south.
The cliff wasn’t that high, only a few hundred feet, but it was high enough. If she fell, she would go splat at the bottom, and no one would ever find her.
From what she could see in the gathering gloom, the bluff looked worse to the east; it was nearly vertical in that direction. To the west, it was a little better. Part of the cliff face had collapsed, leaving a steep surface, but one she might be able to slide down. There was still a drop-off of about 50 feet at the end, but it looked rough; maybe there would be enough handholds and footholds so she could climb down.
Mio couldn’t stay up on the barren plateau. There was no cover on its rocky surface, aside from a few scrawny weeds, and the breeze was picking up. She would freeze before morning. It wouldn’t do to walk around to stay warm, either. Not only didn’t she know if she could stay awake the whole night, she also didn’t want to accidentally walk off one of the cliffs in the dark.
She had to try to get down out of the wind.
Working her way along the cliffside, she reached the rock slide and sat down. Although it didn’t start out that way, the hillside rapidly became very steep, and she knew she had to go slowly to keep from losing control. At the bottom of the 50-foot drop-off was a collection of boulders and smaller rocks that had fallen when the cliff collapsed. Hitting them after that kind of fall was guaranteed to break bones and would probably save the Terrans the effort of having to kill her.
Her emotions warred with her intellect. She was cold and had to get down fast…but to go too fast meant losing control and an early date with the rocks. Just keep control, Mio repeated to herself. Stay strong and keep control. She made it past the first 60 feet then reached the area where the slope became sheerer.
She slowed fractionally, but found she was having a harder time seeing. Grabbing a weed as a handhold, she descended a little farther to where she could reach a rock that protruded from the slope. This will work, she thought. She moved a little farther, bracing a foot on the rock. A depression let her catch her breath for a couple of seconds, then she started down again.
A rock foothold led to another weed, which led to another rock handhold. It was too dark to see, though, and the first indication she had that the rock was loose and not imbedded in the slope was when she tried to brace, and it came loose in her hand as she overextended herself. She went over headfirst, sliding down the hill on a river of smaller rocks.
Panicked, she flailed, trying to catch herself on any of the rocks sticking out as she began accelerating down the slope. No luck; she was out of control. Her left hand caught a rock long enough to spin her around before it came loose, too, and she dug her feet into the slope to stop herself, but it was no use. The slope was too steep, and the surface too fractured. She couldn’t get enough purchase to slow, much less stop, and she knew the drop-off was quickly approaching.
She laid back and tried to dig her hands and feet into the scree, and a series of blows jolted her body as she hit larger rocks. The gravel on the slope was like sandpaper on her hands and back as her shirt was pulled up.
Mio screamed, her body on fire. A darker patch loomed, and she knew the fall was close. She closed her eyes, not wanting to see it coming.
Space yawned beneath her, and she was falling. She started a prayer but hit again almost immediately. Her feet dug in and her right knee erupted in pain, then she was falling again, going over backward. Her head hit something hard, and the night convulsed in stars. Stunned, she could no longer defend herself, and she rolled a long way before finally coming to a stop.
The pain was excruciating, and she passed out.
* * * * *
Chapter Three: Benno
Captain Evan Palmer sat at the head of the wardroom table and looked around at his officers, standing loosely around the periphery of the narrow dining and meeting place. He nodded at them, a measure of pride evident in his eyes. Benno was surprised to see the skipper looking upon even him with a favorable expression. Of all the aristo officers on the Puller, Captain Palmer was the haughtiest and most assured of their lot. He appreciated Benno like a stable master appreciates a venerable old workhorse doing the heavy farming, so the thoroughbreds can frolic. He tolerated Chief Warrant Officer Sanchez dining in his wardroom only because it was the custom, not because he felt Benno was an equal who deserved to be the
re. This attitude was not mere supposition either.
Palmer had said as much to Benno’s face.
But now he graced even Benno with a proud glance. Battle had brought them all together. Did Benno dare hope that cultural barriers had been broken down, much as the bulkheads had during the conflict?
Captain Palmer picked up the tablet from the table before him, looking at the final tally from Combat Systems and Damage Control. “By the grace of God, your leadership, and the steadfast labors of your crew, the Puller has emerged victorious. Through our efforts, the line of retreat favored by the Terran Union Navy remained closed. Forced to fight rather than run away, the TUN exacted a vicious tithe upon our forces and capital ships, but—in the end—the field belongs to the mighty men and women of the ALS!”
He scrolled through the stats and looked up again, his gaze sweeping to encompass them all. “We paid a heavy toll to take this system. We lost three of our twelve biggest combatants outright, and all the remaining battleships and carriers sustained damage, with only two remaining fully mission capable. The chase cruisers are at 45% capacity, being next in the sphere of battle and relatively unarmored. Our fellow destroyers sustained relatively light and sporadic damage. The Puller’s wounds have rendered us partially mission capable, placing us in the middle of the pack as far as damage goes. The transfer frigates and the rescue cutters survived with little damage overall, but those that did take a hit were utterly destroyed.”
Palmer stood and swiped his pad. Data instantly transmitted to all their suites. Benno’s forearm-mounted pad buzzed with the notification. The captain continued. “I have forwarded the After Action Report to you all. Please ensure my appreciation and respect are passed on to your departments and divisions. The coming days will be difficult to endure as we repair our damage, defend this system, and prepare for transit to the next objective. Your people should know both the stakes and the challenges they all must endure. Let’s get to it. Dismissed!”
They all came to rigid attention, then relaxed and moved from the periphery of the wardroom into knots of officers, grouped by department. Benno stood as Combat Systems Maintenance Officer in a loose circle with the Communications Officer, LT Evangeline Cramer; the Gunnery Officer, LT Brad Majors; the Fire Control Officer, LTJG Gwen Kurosawa; and their department head, the Weapons Officer, LCDR Peter Forrestal. As aristo officers and bosses went, they were not a bad lot. Their life experiences were utterly unlike Benno’s own—none of their families had ever farmed or struggled to pay colonization loans—but they made nothing of the different backgrounds. To them, it was just that: background. They treated Benno as a peer, and if they occasionally said something he could interpret as insulting or classist, they did it unthinkingly, with no malice he could detect.
Forrestal tapped his own pad. “Okay, folks, we have our work cut out for us, but between our maintainers and all the engineers crawling through the hull, this repair list almost looks achievable.”
Benno frowned. “Maybe that’s how it looks on paper, sir, but the reality is a bit more complicated. We really need a yard or, failing that, some time with one of the dedicated fleet tenders. We lost massive amounts of exterior structure outside the ship’s spine. If we try to complete these repairs using spinners, autoforges, and the stock we have on board, we’re going to deplete everything. I wouldn’t put those repairs on par with what we could get from a tender.”
Kurosawa, the most junior officer in Weapons Department, spoke up. “Can we request a tender?”
The COMMO laughed throatily. “Sure thing, FCO. After you get done with that, I’ll draft your request for a unicorn and universal peace, okay?”
GUNNO shook his head and laid a hand on Kurosawa’s arm. “It’s not quite as impossible as Evangeline is saying, but you gotta remember where we are in the pecking order. Operation Executive Amber is only beginning. The other half of the fleet will make the next attack to keep up the momentum this strike gives us, while we repair and prep for the assault after that, all before the Turds can re-deploy their forces and hit us while we’re down. That means we need punching power, and that means capital ships, followed by chase cruisers. They’re going to be the priority for the fleet tenders until we’re ready to go again. Given our relative impact and the fact that we weren’t hit as badly, destroyers, frigates, and corvies are going to have to make do with self-repair.”
WEPS, LCDR Forrestal nodded. “It’s like triage for the fleet. Give up on those too far gone, devote your resources to those who need the most help and have a chance of recovery, and let the walking wounded shake it off themselves.”
Benno shrugged. “I don’t disagree, just managing expectations. To that end, I’d like to farm out some of the big structural items for distance support from an open tender. Even if they’re tied alongside a carrier and putting every shop to work, there’s still downtime for their large-format fabrication pods. They can fit in automated work on a schedule, and if I can write the jobs and submit the specs with a high enough priority, there’s more than enough corvettes and frigates still running around to ferry the pieces and parts to us. That would let us focus on the most immediate repairs with our gear, get higher quality hull sections and members from the tender fab pods, and conserve some of our resources for the next engagement. If you think assets are running thin now, think about the supply situation after repairs are complete. This fleet will be running on empty once the big boats empty the cargo vessels, and we won’t be getting any new stock until they make a round trip back to ALS space. I wouldn’t project that until well after the next battle.”
WEPS narrowed his eyes as he considered Benno’s plan. “Okay, Warrant. If you can write the jobs well enough to get picked up, and you can insure delivery and installation before we transit to the next Turd system, I’ll allow it. Let me speak to the Chief Engineer to coordinate. If CHENG buys off on it, you can sit down with the Engineering Maintenance Officer to submit the work. Until then, give me two work lists: one with us doing everything in-house, and one with your plan. Proceed with Plan A until I get you a firm answer otherwise.”
The officers of the Weapons Department went around the circle again to coordinate and describe in detail their current readiness and plans for getting back up to fighting trim. There were so many things to consider. When would they reach their waiting station and lose the assistance of their steady thrust gravity? When would Benno’s tender-fabricated parts get there? How long until they could finish repairs and make themselves fully mission capable? What should they do about the crew they had lost and still needed to honor with either funerals or memorials?
And when could they expect the Terran Union Navy to make an appearance and strike back?
The other departments aboard the Puller engaged in similar discussions, from Engineering, to Operations, to Supply—and overseeing all of it were the captain and Benno’s favorite officer aboard, the Executive Officer, Commander Amanda Ashton. The two senior officers whispered to one another and nodded in concert, but Benno couldn’t tell what they agreed upon. Given how the ship and crew had fared, what their prospects currently looked like, and how even the most classist seemed to be taking on a respectable leadership role in the vein of the XO, the current state of affairs pleased and encouraged Benno.
At the end of this operation, provided they carried the day, and the state of hostilities with the TU could ramp down once more, everything would change. Benno’s rank and time-in-service would allow him to retire with not only his colonization debt paid off, but with a fair stipend saved for expanding and improving the homestead on Adelaide. He could return home and reclaim his nigh-abandoned daughter from their decent-but-humorless neighbor James Rogers. They could live the rest of their lives as masters of their own fates, rather than according to the whims of the colony aristos. Perhaps Mio’s children would even be considered aristos someday, though Benno would have to make sure his eventual grandchildren learned and practiced the humility their Papa tried to demonstrate.
Benno shook his head and turned his attention back to his department officers. Aside from WEPS, the others had pocketed their pads and begun to drift toward the exit. Benno smiled in apology at his department head. “Sorry, sir. My mind wandered a bit there. Worried about home.”
Forrestal shrugged and nodded. “I can well understand that. There is one thing I wanted to ask you about, though: Ortiz. What exactly happened there? Do you really want to go forward with Captain’s Mast on charges of cowardice and desertion?”
Benno scowled, comforting thoughts of home and the future banished. “Yes, sir, I do. I know Ortiz is popular with some of the crew, and he’s a good tech, but he’s been a cancer on morale and motivation with the junior techs. That’s not why I had him arrested, though. Even aggravating sailors have the right to free speech. What they don’t have is the right to endanger every single person aboard this ship to save their own skin. Raoul Ortiz abandoned us and bet on the Puller losing. He needs to go up to the captain because he’s guilty. If we let him off because we’re worried about losing his technical skills, or that it might anger some of the more reactionary elements among the ranks, we’re sweeping under the rug a problem that will come back to haunt us. You give him an opportunity to do this again and get it right, and he’ll try again. Hell, if you gave him a stick of dynamite and the opportunity to blow up the ship and erase his record while he escaped, he’d light that fuse in an instant.”
“Fine, but remember this, Benno: we’re underway in a time of war. The captain’s powers at CO’s Mast are much-expanded. He doesn’t have to wait and refer Ortiz to a court-martial to get the max punishment. He can find him in violation and execute him for treason right here aboard the Puller. And you know what the Skipper is like, Warrant…pretty much no love or consideration for pleb sensibilities. The captain will make sure Raoul Ortiz hangs.”
The Mutineer's Daughter Page 4
